<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>No One For Me But You by indoorbutch</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27510985">No One For Me But You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/indoorbutch/pseuds/indoorbutch'>indoorbutch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bathtub Sex, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 04:02:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,399</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27510985</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/indoorbutch/pseuds/indoorbutch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Therese has a bad day, and Carol takes care of her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carol Aird/Therese Belivet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>218</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Carol always feels a little out of her element when they go to Therese’s friends’ parties. Always feels just a little bit too old, just a little bit too WASP. In the days leading up she’ll agonize over what to wear, not wanting to stick out. Invariably Therese will tell her, with amused impatience, “Wear the blue dress,” or “Wear the gray suit,” or, when she is feeling particularly flirtatious, “Just make sure it’s easy to take off at the end of the night.”</p><p>She’s a scoundrel.</p><p>And she’s never, not once, complained about going to Abby’s parties. Even though she is always the youngest one there, even though the other women will pet her and tease her and make very irritating threats about stealing her away from Carol. She always endures this smilingly, dimples on display, a sidelong wink when Carol starts to grow cross.</p><p>Indeed, Carol thinks that Therese has always been much better at fitting into her circle than she has ever been at fitting into Therese’s. But she’s damned if she won’t keep trying, even on nights like this when they have to arrive separately and after an hour Carol is still making small talk and waiting for her to show up.</p><p>The fact is she much prefers having Dannie and Anna over to their house for dinner. Or meeting people out at a restaurant. In such scenarios, Therese always seated beside her, there’s never any risk of someone dragging her off. Carol can admit it: she’s always jealous for Therese—but she has learned, with time, to not let her jealousy rule the roost. Or stop her from attending these parties, stressful though they may be.</p><p>She knows she’s a fool for taking any such events for granted. It’s not as if she can ever attend Therese’s work functions, nor Therese, hers. Their apartment building has a Christmas social every year, and every year only one of them goes. It’s safer that way. Avoiding questions. But Dannie is a writer whose first novel did very well, and his wife is an English PhD at Columbia, and they’re both of them pretty bohemian. The parties they throw are usually frequented by gay men and lesbians (though Carol hasn’t noticed any tonight) and Carol thinks that if anyone ever gave her or Therese any trouble, Dannie would probably punch their lights out.</p><p>Still, there’s no way when they go out to avoid the questions: Who knows about them? Who knows, but pretends not to? Who suspects? Who doesn’t suspect? Can they be themselves? How much themselves? Are they safe?</p><p>It can be rather exhausting. Which is why Carol, who had quite enough of a social life when Harge demanded it of her during their marriage, finds most nights and weekends she wants nothing more than to be at home with Therese. Safe in the warm haven they’ve made themselves.</p><p>Ruminating over this, she glances at her watch. It’s 8:30. Therese said she would be here by 8:00. Carol, standing on the back porch, looks to the door leading inside. It’s open but the screen is closed; still, Carol can easily see the bustling party inside, and no sign of Therese. She had a photoshoot across the city that should have ended by 7:00. Carol feels a tiny thread of anxiety slithering through her. Of the two of them, Therese is never late. She rotates her watch nervously, and then slides the thumb of her right hand against her ring finger. Therese’s ring is there, a simple gold band inlaid with emeralds. It is one of the simpler pieces that Carol owns, and quite her favorite in the world. Now if only its silver, sapphire-studded twin were here…</p><p>“Penny for your thoughts?”</p><p>Carol startles and looks up. There were others out here before, but they all went inside. She’s had the peace of solitude for five whole minutes. But now a woman stands in front of her. She’s younger than Carol, but not by much. Thirty three? Thirty four? She’s pretty. Chestnut hair and blue eyes, wearing a dress that shows off full cleavage, wide hips, long legs. And she’s smiling at Carol with open appreciation.</p><p>Carol’s manners kick in. </p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry. I was miles away.”</p><p>The woman laughs. There’s a performative trill to it—nothing like Therese’s genuine, joyful laughter.</p><p>“It’s all right,” she says. “I’m Margaret. Have you got a light?”</p><p>“Oh, of course.”</p><p>Carol brandishes her lighter, and the woman holds out a cigarette, and a curl of smoke rises between them. Margaret takes a drag and blows it out slowly, never taking her eyes off Carol.</p><p>Carol clears her throat. “I’m Carol,” she says. “Carol Ross.”</p><p>“Oh I know.”</p><p>A frown. “Excuse me?”</p><p>“You room with Therese Belivet, don’t you? The photographer.”</p><p>It never ceases to please Carol, hearing Therese referred to by the profession she has so brilliantly achieved. But it also never fails to annoy her, being reduced to Therese’s <em>roommate</em>. </p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“I thought she’d be here tonight.”</p><p>“Oh, she will. She’s on her way.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Margaret takes another drag on her cigarette, and confesses, “I’ve seen you before, at these parties.”</p><p>Carol doesn’t know what to say. If Margaret has been a regular guest of Dannie’s, she’s never noticed her.</p><p>“But you’re always with Ms. Belivet, so…”</p><p>Ah. Of course. She’s been biding her time. Carol would smirk if she weren’t slightly uncomfortable. It’s not like women haven’t flirted with her before. Either at Abby’s parties, or in intimate corners of social functions when she was married to Harge. When it was safe to do so, Carol always flirted back. Even if she wasn’t interested, she flirted back, because it was so intoxicating, to have that moment of affinity. To lock eyes with a woman who was like her, and feel possibility spark, two women in a man’s world, who knew the score, knew the moves. This was how all of Carol’s love affairs began.</p><p>Until Therese. Therese was a departure, from the start. Carol thinks back to how they met at Frankenberg’s: the failed hunt for a doll; the successful pitch of a train set; Carol asking the wide-eyed girl, <em>‘Shall I pay now?’</em> and Therese’s startled, flustered, <em>‘Oh, yes, of course!’</em> Carol remembers grinning, watching her grab the receipt book and bend over it, scribbling. Carol had taken the opportunity to look at her closely: her flawless complexion, her facial structure like a doll’s, her fine dark hair, and large green eyes and all of it framed by that adorable Santa hat. Carol had been instantly charmed, and slightly taken aback, warmth spreading up her neck at the unexpected flare of attraction…</p><p>Margaret is still looking at her, lips coquettishly pursed. This… sort of thing happens less and less, she’s happy to say. But even now, it’s not unheard of for a woman or a man in the right environment to make a pass at her. Or at Therese, for that matter.</p><p>Carol clears her throat, “So, Margaret, what do you do?”</p><p>She instantly regrets the question, as Margaret begins to describe her job at a theater company. It’s not that Carol disdains the work, or even that she finds Margaret particularly tiresome, but she’s also not at all interested in having a conversation with her. Still, well-heeled as she is, forged in the crucible of New York high society, she’s incapable of being overtly rude to one of Dannie’s guests.</p><p>“Do you like the theater?” asks Margaret.</p><p>“Therese and I both do, yes.”</p><p>“Well, we’re putting on a play this weekend. <em>A Streetcar Named Desire</em>. Do you know it?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“I always thought Stella was just the most extraordinary, tragic character. So beautiful, so powerful, so… misunderstood.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“If you’d like, I’d be happy to get you tickets for Saturday. It’s my night off as well.”</p><p>Carol opens her mouth, but no words come out. She releases a stilted, awkward laugh, shifts from one foot to the other and tries to think how in <em>God’s</em> name she’s going to—</p><p>The screen door flies open, and out onto the porch strides Therese.</p><p>“There you are,” she says briskly, and before Carol can even greet her, Therese has come up to her, slid a hand into her hair, and pulled her down into a kiss.</p><p>Carol is too startled to object. Not to mention achingly relieved—not only to have her conversation interrupted, but to know that Therese’s lateness had nothing to do with the three car pile-up she’d been grimly imagining. She kisses her back. It’s not lewd, exactly, but it’s firm and familiar and Therese is so deliciously confident when she kisses her like this—</p><p>And then, she pulls back. Doesn’t meet Carol’s eyes, but turns her stare on—</p><p>“Oh, hello,” she says. “How are you? I’m Therese Belivet.”</p><p>Margaret retains her dignity fairly well for a woman who has just had her aspirations crushed. She offers Therese a thin smile.</p><p>“Margaret. Pleasure to meet you.”</p><p>“Of course,” Therese agrees, and while Carol stands there blankly, Therese plucks the cigarette from between her fingers, and takes a long drag. The ring on her index finger glitters. She exhales with a sound of relief. “Thank God for this. I’ve been wanting one all night. Do you have an extra, baby?”</p><p>
  <em>Baby?</em>
</p><p>This kind of public display is unheard of. Therese must have no doubts about the persuasion of her interloper. Even so, it’s out of character, risky. </p><p>Carol says, “Uh—of course.”</p><p>She digs for her cigarette case, utterly flustered. Margaret stabs her own cigarette out on the balcony railing, says, “I’m going to go back in. It was swell to meet you.”</p><p>From her resentful expression, it was clearly <em>not</em> swell.</p><p>“You, too,” Therese beams.</p><p>Margaret throws Carol one last look, as if hoping she will do something to make her stay, and then she slinks off, defeated. Therese watches her go, and Carol doesn’t miss the fact that her smile fades and her eyes take on an almost martial glitter. When Carol holds out the cigarette case, she doesn’t notice. Just goes on smoking Carol’s cigarette. Finally, Carol snorts a laugh, and picks out a new one for herself. This, at last, makes Therese look at her, her expression still distant. </p><p>“I’ll just have my own,” Carol says. “Since you’re not very good at sharing.”</p><p>Therese blinks owlishly, as if realizing what she just did. Carol expects to see one of her shy, embarrassed smiles; expects to hear a little self-deprecating laugh. What she is not prepared for is how Therese’s eyes cut away, how she starts smoking again, clearly upset.</p><p>“Darling?” Carol says. “Are you all right?”</p><p>“Yes,” Therese nods rather sharply. “Yes, of course, I’m fine. I should go say hi to Dannie.”</p><p>She turns toward the door, but Carol stops her with a hand on her elbow. Carol puts her cigarette out in the ash tray, takes Therese’s cigarette from her hand and does the same. Therese still won’t look at her, and after a glance around the porch, Carol draws her away from the door, toward a more secluded spot. When they are in darkness, Carol cradles her lover’s face, tilting it up toward hers so that their eyes meet. Therese’s are shining in the night.</p><p>“Now, what’s this?” Carol asks, brushing a tear that has slid from the corner of her eye.</p><p>“Nothing,” Therese insists, a bit childishly. Carol gives her a look and she scowls. “I’m all right, honestly. It’s just been a long day, and I’ve been so looking forward to seeing you, and then I looked for you inside and couldn’t find you and that—that <em>woman</em> was clearly—”</p><p>She breaks off. Carol marshals all her self-control not to laugh at this unusual flare of temper.</p><p>“I mean, I’ve seen her look at your at parties before, but I never—what did she want?” Therese demands.</p><p>“A date,” Carol shrugs. No good can come from lying about it. Therese’s nostrils flare. “I was just about to let her down easy, my love, but you handled that, didn’t you?” Therese scowls again, though she does look slightly cowed. Carol tsks, “I wouldn’t feel sorry for her. I’m certain she already knew about us and had been looking for her opportunity anyway. You’re my little knight in armor.”</p><p>Therese goes on frowning, but the heaviest wrinkle in her forehead starts to smooth. She can look so <em>surly</em> when she’s upset, and Carol is just grateful that she herself seems not to be the object of that look. After a moment Therese’s hands, which had been clenched at her sides, slip forward on to Carol’s hips, and she inches closer. Carol puts an arm around her, tucks her under her chin, hears and feels Therese breathing in. The number of times they’ve touched each other like this, in public, could be named on one hand.</p><p>“Was it a terrible day?” asks Carol gently.</p><p>There’s a moment of hesitation, and Therese nods.</p><p>“Do you want to just go home?”</p><p>A fretful sound, “No, we can’t. I promised Dannie. We’ve got to stay for an hour at least.”</p><p>Carol squashes her own disappointment, says easily, “All right then. Let’s stay, just for an hour, and then go, all right? And what say you keep close to me, hmm? So no one else can swan in on your territory. Sound good, <em>baby</em>?”</p><p>Therese blurts a laugh, the sound pressed into Carol’s chest, and Carol holds her tighter, relieved.</p><p>&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt; </p><p>Yet as the next hour wears on, it’s clear that something is still bothering Therese. She’s quiet with their friends, quieter than usual, and Carol finds herself having to carry the conversation for her. She’s distracted, somber; Anna clearly notices, sending Carol an inquiring look. Carol can only shake her head that she doesn’t know. At one point, they’re all in the kitchen, and Carol notices Therese staring across the room—at Margaret. Her expression is pensive, melancholy, and Carol thinks this can’t all be down to a rough day at work. Surely Therese knows there’s nothing to be <em>jealous</em> about, doesn’t she?</p><p>“Say, Therese, how was that photo shoot?” asks Dannie, clearly trying to draw her back in.</p><p>Therese drags her eyes away from Margaret, landing distractedly on her friend.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The photoshoot. You know, with all the lawyers. Didn’t Bill go with you? Say, Bill—” he shouts across the room. “How was it, meeting all those hoity toity lawyers?”</p><p>Bill (and now Carol remembers that he was on assignment with Therese, and they came to the party together) barks a laugh and walks over to them. “A bunch of jokers if you ask me, right Therese?” Therese smiles thinly; Carol notices a stiffening in her body. Bill says to the group of them. “They sure do like to hear themselves talk, though. Why do you think we got here late? I mean, you should have <em>heard</em> this one guy.”</p><p>“Bill—” says Therese.</p><p>But he doesn’t seem to notice, “Divorce lawyer, right? So he starts telling us how everyone thinks it’s the men cheating on the women that ends marriages, right? Guys going in for a younger model. A lawyer’s bread and butter. But <em>he</em> says women are just as bad. You know, the housewives. They get older, they get bored, they start looking for something a little more exciting, and boom! Our Mr. Lawyer is charging a hundred bucks an hour to get the whole thing sorted out!”</p><p>Carol is struck silent, something cold going through her.</p><p>Anna says a little louder than necessary, “Anyone need a drink?”</p><p>“But wait,” cries Bill. “It gets better.” His voice is loud, and others at the party are gathering to him, including Margaret, who tries to catch Carol’s eye. Carol takes a needful drag of her cigarette, glancing nervously at a silent Therese. Bill keeps talking, “You know the lead reporter on the story was Sam Davis—you remember him, Dannie. Real goof if you ask me. Well, he starts telling this lawyer how he’s getting a divorce himself. How the wife asked for it but won’t say why. Lawyer tells him, she’s probably having an affair. Davis says, nah, she never looked at other guys, not the whole time they’ve been married. Like he’d know if she did! But the lawyer says, and get this: she got any close girlfriends?”</p><p>Bill waggles his eyebrows. Someone in the crowd whistles, others laugh, and Dannie, looking forcedly affable, says, “Now, come on, Bill, that’s not—”</p><p>“No, you gotta hear this!” Bill insists, and everyone around him is clearly rapt. “He starts telling us how it’s not just fellas who’ll take your wife away. It’s <em>women</em>. He says, I’ve had clients whose wives are shameless. Real <em>cradle robbers</em>, if you know what I mean—rich older women who love to go after impressionable girls. What’d he call it, Therese? Oh, yeah—patterns of behavior! Watch out for <em>those</em> broads, he says. Can you believe that, guys? The uptown ladies are gonna poach our girls if we’re not careful!”</p><p>Hooting in the group. More laughter. Carol feels sick, and Therese is staring sightlessly away from her, and Anna and Dannie look mortified.</p><p>“Well, why shouldn’t they?” demands Margaret all of the sudden. Everyone looks at her in surprise, and she smirks around at their faces, a fiendish gleam in her eye. “Why does any affair happen? Someone’s not keeping up their end. And everything’s fair game where love is concerned. You don’t keep your girl happy, well—maybe another girl should come along and have a try.”</p><p>In the sudden cacophony of jeering and shouting and talking, Carol sees Therese look at Margaret with a coldness that could freeze the center of the sun. Carol uses the tumult to lean closer to her, murmuring, “Dearest, let me take you home.”</p><p>“It’s all right, Carol,” Therese grits.</p><p>“No. It’s been an hour. We’re going.”</p><p>Anna—bless her—has been watching them, and suddenly calls out, “Say, let’s have a game! What do you think? Charades? Everybody in the front room! It’s too damn hot in this kitchen. Dannie, tell them!”</p><p>“You heard her!” Dannie declares, flicking a glance at Therese, who doesn’t appear to notice, who is slightly pale and still watching Margaret. “That’s my wife gave you an order, and I for one think divorce lawyers are full of shit!”</p><p>Still laughing and talking and raucous, the crowd in the kitchen breaks up. Anna presses Carol’s hand on her way past; Carol kisses her cheek quickly, all gratitude. She already has her and Therese’s handbags, and with a hand on her lover’s lower back she ushers her out the back door, and then to the street.</p><p>In the car, they’re both silent. Therese is staring out the window, and Carol is too stunned to know what to say at first. Her mind is racing, and it’s a whole five minutes before she works up the courage to ask—</p><p>“Was it Jerry Rix? Was that the lawyer?”</p><p>Beside her, Therese answers softly. “Yes.”</p><p>That <em>fucking</em>…</p><p>Carol grinds her jaw so hard her back teeth ache from it. It’s been years since she’s had to even think about Harge’s lawyer. That stuffy, sneering man who, she now knows, recommended Tommy Tucker to Harge in the first place, and engineered the entire strategy for seeking full custody of Rindy. With so much time passed, and things so much better with Harge since he remarried, Carol had hoped she would never have to think again of those horrible days. The tomato aspic lunches with Harge’s wretched parents. The prying sessions with the Saddlebrook psychotherapist. Longing for Therese with a desperate, heartbroken need. Why should any of that be able to touch them again, now? And why should her own mistakes, her past affairs, be flung in Therese’s face? Therese doesn’t deserve any of it.</p><p>“Some of the lawyers were actually nice,” murmurs Therese. She sounds almost as if she’s talking to herself, face still turned toward the window. “But he was… Not nice. He leered at me the whole time. I had to do a close up portrait and he kept… trying to put his hands on me.”</p><p>Carol sees red. It’s very hard for her to not swerve the car.</p><p>“Well,” she mutters, bile rising in her throat, “It sounds like he’s just as charming as he ever was.”</p><p>Therese sighs. “Let’s just go home, Carol. Can we please just go home?”</p><p>She knows what this means. Therese wants quiet. Carol, feeling wretched, complies.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At the apartment, Therese hangs up her coat and then takes Carol’s coat from her and hangs it up as well. Therese leaves her shoes in the hallway and wanders back toward their bedroom. Carol follows her, watches her from the doorway, as she starts to undress, shedding her smart jacket and her skirt and blouse. When she takes off her underthings, Carol keeps watching, not with the focus of desire, but with a new anxiety. The straps of Therese’s brassiere have left deep red indents in her shoulders, and there’s a ring around her waist from the girdle, and when she takes off her stockings, Carol sees a bandage taped to her heel—no doubt covering a nasty blister. Therese is a goddamn miracle of a woman, her body perfect in form, but she is not infallible, and the signs of this prick Carol with guilt. As if it were her fault that women’s clothes are so uncomfortable. She knows it’s ridiculous, but right now, everything feels like Carol’s fault. Fucking Jerry Rix, and loud-mouthed Bill replaying it all, and Margaret flirting with her right in front of—</p><p>“You’re hovering,” says Therese suddenly. She’s put on her pajamas and stands looking at Carol across the room.</p><p>Carol fidgets in the doorway, says, “I’m sorry, Dearest. Do you want me to leave you alone?”</p><p>Therese sighs, her eyes full of sadness. “Come here,” she says.</p><p>Carol practically flies across the room. She takes Therese in her arms, holds her close, and Therese presses her face into her chest, breathing deeply. For a moment they just stand there, and then she hears her lover’s soft voice, “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Startled, Carol pulls back. Cups her cheek. “Sorry? Darling, why?”</p><p>“About Bill,” Therese says. She looks weary, defeated; her eyes dart away. “I knew I’d have to tell you what happened, but… but I didn’t want you to hear about it that way. I wanted to protect you from it. From what he said. How he said it.”</p><p>Carol is confused, “Protect <em>me</em>? Darling, I thought you’d be angry at me.”</p><p>Now it’s Therese who looks confused, startled, “What? Why would I be angry at <em>you</em>?”  </p><p>“Well, because—” Carol falters, unsure. Therese’s big green eyes are still so sad, but now they’re also distressed, gazing up at her in supplication. “Well, because… I thought that lawyer—the things he said—about me—I thought it might make you feel—”</p><p>Therese’s eyes flash. “Everything he said about you was a <em>lie</em>,” she snaps. The sadness vanishes from her eyes, replaced with an immolating anger. “He was showing off for Sam and Bill. Trying to prove what a lascivious line of work he’s in—trying to make it sound exciting, for the article. He painted you as some—some skulking <em>predator</em> who liked seducing innocent girls.” Suddenly, she pulls out of Carol arms. She begins to pace the room, voice rising with her fury, which she is clearly only now allowing herself to feel. “What if he’d used your <em>name</em> Carol!? What if he told people who know you? What right does he have, to talk about you as if he knows you or knows us or knows anything about what we are to each other!? You could tell he <em>liked</em> it. He liked thinking about you with women. He’d say something and then look at me and wink and—and—God he was disgusting and if he ever hurt your reputation or told people who would judge you I think I’d—I think—”</p><p>And she bursts into tears.</p><p>For a moment Carol can only stare at her, stunned. Then, as it often does in moments like these, Abby’s voice fills Carol’s head, snapping at her, <em>‘Do something, damn it!’ </em></p><p>Carol goes to Therese again, pulling her back into her embrace. Tucks her under her chin and holds her as she weeps. Carol is unspeakably relieved, at the sensation of Therese’s arms wrapping tight around her. Unspeakably grateful, to be able to comfort her in this moment, and murmur her name and shush her and say, “Darling, it’s all right. Shhh, Sweetheart, it’s all right. He’s no danger to us.”</p><p>“But what if he—”</p><p>“Angel, he’s <em>Harge’s lawyer</em>. Do you know what damage it could do to Harge, if it came out that his ex-wife was a—well, Harge would have him disbarred. Jerry Rix may be an absolute snake of a man, but he’s not a bad lawyer. He knows better than to shit where he eats. And I am not afraid of him.” She pulls back so that she can make Therese look at her, so that she can hold her face in her hands and look her straight in her tear-filled eyes. “Do you understand, Therese? I’m not afraid. I’m just so—so sorry, that you had to…”</p><p>She doesn’t know how to finish, but Therese pushes her face back under her chin. For long moments they stand there in the bedroom, Carol still in her dress and heels, Therese very small in her pajamas. Minutes pass, and Therese stops crying.</p><p>“Oh,” she says, sounding miserable. “I’ve left a wet spot on your dress!”  </p><p>Carol scoffs, “Darling, I don’t give a damn. Are you all right? Look at me. Do you believe me? That everything is all right?”</p><p>Therese nods, and sags against her. It’s clear her emotion has exhausted her.</p><p>“What do you need?” Carol asks.</p><p>Therese chuckles wetly, but any hint of humor is a relief.</p><p>“You’re taking care of <em>me</em>,” she says against Carol’s shoulder. “But <em>you’re</em> the one who—”</p><p>“I didn’t spend the afternoon with some wretched lawyer pawing at me,” Carol interrupts, the memory of this detail rekindling her fury, which she controls for Therese’s sake. “I think you’ve quite earned a little taking care of, my love. It’s still early. What would you like? Foot rub? Tea? I could make you some hot chocolate, even.”</p><p>Therese breathes in deeply, and lets it out. The last of the tension seems to drain from her. She feels almost limp in Carol’s arms.</p><p>Then, softly, “Can we take a bath?”</p><p>Carol smiles, “Absolutely.”</p><p>&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt; </p><p>Therese has said more than once that her favorite thing about the Madison Avenue apartment is the bathtub.</p><p>The first time Therese visited her here, it was two nights after their reunion at the Oak Room. They had spent Friday and Saturday nights at Therese’s apartment, before Carol shyly asked if Therese would come see the place. Therese had told her, with steel in her eyes, that she still wasn’t moving in—not yet. But when Carol insisted that she understood, her young lover finally, cautiously agreed to come up town for dinner on Sunday.</p><p>As soon as Therese had appeared in her doorway, dinner was forgotten. They spent the night in bed, devouring each other, the ache of their long separation far from satiated. It was not until Monday morning, as Therese was scrambling to leave for work (she was late), that she came out of the bathroom and announced with her entirely bewitching newfound confidence, “That bathtub is incredible. I want you in it, the next time I’m here.”</p><p>She had lingered only long enough to kiss Carol goodbye, clearly amused at the state she was leaving her in. Needless to say, Carol made very sure to grant Therese’s wish as soon as possible.</p><p>Now, four years later, she runs the water, testing it periodically to make sure it’s not too hot. This time Therese is the one hovering in the doorway, looking shy, and needy. Since they met, Therese has become a force of nature, brave, and confident, and poised—but there are still moments when her youth and her vulnerability shine out of her. She and Carol are both wearing their robes, and when the bath is ready Carol turns to her with gentle hands, slipping the robe off her slim shoulders, and holding her hand as she steps into the tub.</p><p>Therese sinks into the water with a groan of relief, but her eyes soon find Carol again, clearly waiting. Carol hangs up her own robe and, knowing what her lover needs, slips into the tub behind her. It really is a fantastic bathtub. Deep, and wide, and long enough for Carol’s legs. She settles back, pulling Therese against the front of her body so that her head rests on her shoulder. The water is <em>perfect</em>, and the feel of Therese is more perfect, still. Now that she has had her tears, she finally seems calm, if a little exhausted. They lapse into comfortable silence, Carol trailing her fingers gently up and down Therese’s arm, Therese cupping her knee. Steam curls around them, lulls them into a soporific state, made more decadent by the bath oils that Carol poured into the water.</p><p>It’s after long minutes of this that Carol, feeling just a little nervous, says, “I thought perhaps you were angry with me… about Margaret.”</p><p>There’s a pause. Therese says, “Hmm,” but doesn’t elaborate. Carol hangs on her silence, reminded once again that even four years together can’t change certain fundamental things. Therese, with her rich inner life and inherent quietness, still leaves her asking from time to time: <em>‘What are you thinking?’</em></p><p>Then, at last, “I wasn’t…” Therese starts, pauses, continues, “I didn’t like it, of course.”</p><p>This time Carol says, “Hmm,” glad that Therese can’t see and misunderstand her fond smile.</p><p>“You know she’s not the first woman—or man—to flirt with you in front of me.”</p><p>Carol thinks this is a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, but says, “I know, Darling. Does it bother you terribly? You know I never want it, never invite it—”</p><p>“Carol, I don’t blame you. I wasn’t angry at you. It’s just… I just think sometimes that… if I weren’t so young… women wouldn’t do it.”</p><p>“Really?” Carol says, intrigued.</p><p>“It was what Mr. Rix said—about you chasing young, innocent girls. He didn’t recognize me, of course, but I knew he was talking about me. Dismissing me as some… ignorant child that you seduced. And sometimes I think that’s what your would-be suitors think of me. I think they must view me as your little… hanger-on. Completely unthreatening.”</p><p>Well, this is patently absurd. Not Therese’s feelings, but her conclusion. Hadn’t Margaret practically admitted that she had noticed Carol before, but hung back because Therese was always there? And as for Therese being a hanger-on: not since the days of their road trip has Therese followed her around like an adoring puppy. Young though she is, the years of professional success, of confidence and comfort in love, of coming into her own, have made Therese a force to be reckoned with, and at any given party, in any given company, she is as likely to drive the conversation as Carol is.</p><p>“You underestimate yourself, my dear,” Carol says.</p><p>“You underestimate <em>yourself</em>, Ms. Ross,” Therese retorts, but there’s humor in it. “You are even more magnificent than you were when I met you—how that’s possible I can’t decide—and I don’t think your would-be suitors tend to view a twenty five year old as much threat.”</p><p>“Do you really think it’s that?” Carol asks pensively. “Do you think if you were older, my age, it would be different?”</p><p>Therese shrugs. She reaches for Carol’s arm, pulling it across her chest and holding it there. Carol nuzzles her damp hair, her ear, her neck, humming. She can’t wait to see Therese at thirty five, at forty five, at fifty—even though a part of her fears some day she will be too old to keep her sweetheart’s interest. She knows innately that this isn’t true, but still. Therese’s words make her wonder: what if they <em>were</em> the same age? What then? She is convinced it would not change anything between them, not really, not now. Yet there’s a certain pleasure in imagining…</p><p>“Suppose you had been born only a couple of years after me,” Carol murmurs. “Or suppose I had been born a couple of years after you.”</p><p>Therese says, with her typical practicality, “We would never have met.”</p><p>“But suppose we did,” Carol replies. “Suppose… suppose you had applied to that scholarship in high school—you know, the one for fine arts, that you were too shy to go for.”</p><p>Therese chuckles, “Oh, God, can you picture me at Harvard?”</p><p>“I certainly can,” Carol says tartly, nibbling her jawline. Therese squirms, giggles, the sound like music. Grinning, Carol says, “And you know, I almost went there, too. I only picked Barnard because it was considered more appropriate. But suppose I had gone to Harvard instead? And you had gotten in on that scholarship? Suppose I never met Harge, but met you?”</p><p>Therese makes an interested sound, and then a frowning sound, “What about Rindy?”</p><p>“Hush, Dearest,” Carol smiles. “We’re just pretending. Pretend with me. I go to Harvard. And let’s say you show up, oh—my junior year?”</p><p>“Straight from the girl’s home,” Therese drawls, “With just two sets of clothes and an old camera and a scholarship. I would have had to take a job just to afford to eat. Unlike you, my darling socialite, with all your parties and charity work and men chasing you down.”</p><p>Carol grumbles, thinks for a moment, “But we still meet,” she declares at last.</p><p>Therese pauses, seems about to argue with her. Then, “How?”</p><p>Carol smirks with triumph. She runs her hand up and down Therese’s arm. “Well,” she says. “You take a job at the bookstore, of course. And one day I go in and buy a book.”</p><p>Therese laughs, a bright, delighting sound, <em>her</em> Therese, happy and free.</p><p>“Of course. And I see you across the shop, and stare at you like a nincompoop, because I’ve never seen anyone so gorgeous in my life.”</p><p>“And I catch you staring,” Carol replies. “This beautiful… fey girl with big green eyes and dark hair. I go to ask you about the book, and of course you know all about it, because you like to read.”</p><p>“Too much, probably,” says Therese.</p><p>“But it’s refreshing,” Carol takes her cue at once, keeps running her fingers, up and down. “<em>You’re</em> refreshing. You’re not stuck up and spoilt, like the other girls I know. You don’t spend all your time talking about the co-eds and the handsome professors and plotting how to land yourself a husband. You talk to me about the book I want, and you have such interesting, clever things to say, even though I can tell you’re rather nervous. By the end of it I am… so <em>intrigued</em> by you. Half in love already.”</p><p>Therese scoffs. “You were <em>not</em>.”</p><p>“We’re <em>imagining</em>, Therese,” Carol scolds. </p><p>“Well, then, how does it end? Do you forget your gloves on the counter? Do I mail them to your dormitory? Do you ask me out for poached eggs and spinach at the local, upscale eatery?”</p><p>“No, no,” Carol says. “This time… there’s no child or husband or divorce to distract me. I’m young and carefree, still. Or, as carefree as I ever was, which I suppose isn’t much. Nevertheless, I have time in my life to think back to the girl in the bookshop. So I visit you again. I can’t keep away. I buck up and ask you if—”</p><p>“No,” Therese interrupts. “No, this time, it’s me. My shift at the bookstore is ending. I ask if you want to get a sandwich with me. A place nearby, that I can afford.”</p><p>“All right,” Carol says, “And then what?”</p><p>“I’m in awe of you,” Therese admits. “I hardly know how to string two words together. I can’t stop staring at you. I feel small and plain, but when you look at me, when you really look at me—it’s like I’m real, for the first time in my life.” </p><p>Carol moans. Her hand slides down, slips off Therese’s arm, touches the sharp angle of her hip bone. “And I’m enchanted by you, Therese. I can’t believe how beautiful you are, how kind, how interesting. You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met, the most preoccupying. I think about you all the time. I find every opportunity, to visit the bookstore. To ask you out for tea. I neglect my friends, my studies, everything, at the slightest chance that you’re free.”</p><p>Her hand trails further down, stroking Therese’s thigh, running back up to her hip bone again. Therese’s breathing has gotten slightly deeper. The sleepiness that had come over them before is dissipating, much like the steam from the bath. The water is a little cooler, but Therese is so warm in her arms.</p><p>“Your friends must not like me,” says Therese dryly.</p><p>“Oh, I don’t care. They’re not good friends, anyway, and Abby is at Barnard, and I miss her so much, but you—you make Harvard bearable.”</p><p>“Do I?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>There’s a long, weighty pause.</p><p>“Then what happens?” Therese murmurs.</p><p>“Well,” Carol drags her fingers across Therese’s belly, touches her other thigh, subtly presses it wider. Therese’s breath catches with anticipation. Carol goes on, “One night, all the girls in my dorm go out to a party, but I say I’ve got a cold. As soon as they’re gone, I call you up. Ask you over, to listen to records.”</p><p>“How could I say no?” Therese asks, slightly breathless.</p><p>“You don’t. We sit on the floor and listen to music and talk about books. You let me do your makeup, even though you’re quite electrifying without it. Still, it’s such a pleasure, watching you blush, watching you smile. We’re sitting close to each other. You’ve just put on my perfume, and I lean forward, to smell you.” Carol uses her chin to nudge Therese’s head to the side, and then she’s bending a little, running her nose up her lover’s delicate throat. Therese whimpers. “I breathe you in. Your gorgeous skin. Your perfect jaw. This spot, behind your ear.” Carol mouths at it, bites gently. Therese’s body rolls back into hers.</p><p>“Carol,” she sighs, fingers digging into her thighs, which shift beneath her. Carol takes a hold of Therese’s thighs, sliding them over her own, spreading her open. God bless this fucking bathtub. “What next?” Therese whimpers. “What happens next?”</p><p>“I kiss you, of course.”</p><p>Instantly Therese is angling her neck, reaching back for her. Their mouths slide together with all the heat of young love. Her tongue slips into Therese’s mouth. She relishes her low and helpless moan, and slides her hand down, between her legs, cupping the warm wet heart of her.</p><p>“Is it—” Therese pants for breath, arches, “Is it your first kiss?”</p><p>Regretfully, Carol says, “No. But it’s by far the best. Is it your first?”</p><p>She drags her fingers through Therese’s folds, avoids the swollen bud of her clit, knows the answer to her question. Therese whimpers, “Yes.”</p><p>Even under the water, she can feel the silkiness of Therese’s arousal. “Then I’m gentle. Careful with you. It’s no less than you deserve.”    </p><p>“Not too gentle, I hope,” Therese says.</p><p>She reaches down for Carol’s fingers, slides them up and presses them into her clit. Who is Carol to deny her? She uses three fingers, rubbing in slow circles. Therese shudders, reaches back to kiss her again. It’s almost violent, both of them whimpering and moaning into the slide of each other’s tongues. Therese’s hips twitch against her. She’s sensitive tonight, needy. It won’t take much. The bath water sloshes around them. When Carol breaks away, it’s with a gasp.</p><p>“No,” she says. “No, not too gentle. How can I be gentle, when you feel like this? When you’re so wet and soft and warm, like this? How can I do anything but devour you?”</p><p>“Please,” Therese gasps, pushing into her hand. “Please.”</p><p>Carol wraps an arm across her chest, cupping one of her breasts, teasing the nipple between forefinger and thumb. With her other hand, she makes a V of her fingers, trapping Therese’s clit between them and stroking, up and down, up and down, using her middle finger to skim the hard and aching tip.</p><p>Therese cries out, head pressing back into her shoulder, breasts jutting forward as she arches.</p><p>“Shh,” Carol teases her. “Darling, you have to be quiet—who knows when the girls will get back from that party?”</p><p>“Oh, God, Carol—I—I can’t—I’m going to—”</p><p>“Right here?” Carol asks. “Right here in my dorm room?”</p><p>“Yes—yes—”</p><p>“Show me, Angel. Show me how beautiful you are.”</p><p>Hardly ten seconds pass, and then with a high pitched gasp, she’s coming. Her whole body shudders and jerks, undulating with the steady rhythm of Carol’s fingers. The sounds she makes are heavenly: broken wails of release, of pleasure, of love. Carol keeps going for as long as she dares, wanting her to feel all of it, as much as possible. When she knows that they are just on the edge of too much, she slows to a stop. Therese collapses back against her chest, gasping and shivering with aftershocks. Carol reaches down, cups her sex, feels how wet her release has been, warmer and silkier by far than the bath.</p><p>“My beautiful shopgirl,” Carol murmurs in her ear. “Flung out of space.”</p><p>Therese makes another sound; it might be a sob. Suddenly she puts her hands on either side of the tub and lifts up. Carol watches in lust-drunk awe as the girl rises, water sluicing off her skin, and turns around. Within moments she’s back in Carol’s arms, only this time she’s facing her, straddling her in the bath. There’s a wild look in her eye, not the sleepy relief Carol expected, but fresh lust. Therese grabs her hand, puts it between her legs.</p><p>“Please,” she gasps, “M-more.”</p><p>Carol growls her approval, sits forward with one arm around Therese’s waist, and probes the molten center of her. She slides in with two fingers. Therese quakes, head tossing back.</p><p>“Oh! Oh, <em>yes</em>—yes, like that! Please, baby, like that.” </p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>,” Carol hisses, hooking deeper, pulling her as close as the angle will allow.</p><p>She starts stroking, hard and deep. She leans forward, taking one of Therese’s tight, wet nipples into her mouth and suckling with abandon. Therese rocks her hips, her slim thighs tightening as she lifts up and down. Suddenly she grabs Carol’s face and brings their mouths together again, kissing her deep and frantic. Carol can feel the ring on Therese’s finger—the one she never takes off. Carol can feel the moans in Therese’s throat, an endless vibration of pleasure, of need. Their lovemaking is always sweet, but when it gets like this—wild, abandoned, desperate—Carol thinks sometimes she’ll die from the sheer perfection of it.</p><p>Therese breaks their kiss with a gasp. Her eyes are heavy lidded, her damp hair is pressed to her forehead. One hand now in Carol’s hair, she slides the other between them and starts touching herself. Carol groans, maddened. She changes her tactic, stroking less and rubbing more, pressing against the spot inside Therese that, when it’s timed right, will make her convulse for minutes on end. Therese’s eyes flutter closed. Her jaw slackens. Her own fingers move with furious purpose.</p><p>“Yes, my love,” Carol tells her. “Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter how we met, or when we met. It doesn’t matter that women flirt with me or flirt with you, or that lawyers insult us, or men misunderstand us—none of it matters. Because it was always going to be this. You and me.”</p><p>Therese nods, whines, says desperately, “<em>Carol</em>—”</p><p>“That’s it,” Carol tells her. “Come for me.”</p><p>And with a cry of utter bliss, Therese does. </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>